


String Malfunction

by crystal_grasshopper



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1980s Era Queen (Band), Blood and Injury, Breaky - Freeform, Brian is a medic apparently, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, RPF, Stupid ending, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but I tried not to make it too OOC, gets a lil steamy but no nsfw, i can't write lmao, kinda OOC, sfw, theres some blood, this gets sad :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 03:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystal_grasshopper/pseuds/crystal_grasshopper
Summary: For once, Brian hated silence because the distracting thoughts were all he heard as the two were now looking directly at each other. His skin heated up further as he saw John’s pale skin turn a darker shade of pink. His gut churned at the defined, reddening collarbones he could see peeking out from the large shirt collar.‘God.’“Brian?” John’s voice was wavering—unsure, eyes darting all over the other’s face.
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	String Malfunction

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind this is obviously fictional and just me writing random crap. Always feel a bit guilty when I write RPF haha.  
There's def not enough Breaky fanfics so.  
If there's any spelling or grammatical errors, let me know bc I did not revise this like at all.  
-  
Set in 1980. Based off a prompt I got from a fanfiction prompt generator: Brian having to help Deaky undress after an injury. Technically doesn't completely follow the prompt but it's good enough ??? Also don't know if its contextually accurate to the time and place but oh well.

The clock on the farthest wall of the main recording room read that it was around nine in the evening already when Roger and Freddie decided to finish up early and go home from the recording studio. Brian had been working on a couple of his songs when the sound of a loud _swish-ping_ filled the air. 

The curly haired man snapped his head up from his notebook which contained various lyrics to find John bent over his bass, holding his arm to his chest. His short, neatly cut hair hid his face from the angle Brian was at, but from the hisses, he could tell the younger man was in pain. He threw his notebook on the couch and got up to check on him. 

“You alright?”

Red was covering the said man’s arm when he lifted his face up to meet the taller one’s and Brian’s heart stopped for a second. 

“Fuck! What happened?!” The dark brunet exclaimed, immediately looking around for anything to stop the bleeding before spotting a towel on the stool beside where the bassist sat. As he was pulling the younger man’s arm and tightly wrapping it up, he noticed a missing string on the bass and then it clicked. 

One of the strings had snapped. 

Shakily sighing, John used his left hand to pull the aforementioned instrument off his lap and onto the stand to his right. After a few minutes of applying pressure, Brian unwrapped the now red, dampened towel to see the damage done. He almost gagged but was glad to see the cut wasn’t too deep and didn’t seem to have hit any arteries. 

“I tuned it too tightly, the nut must’ve been wearing down… I don’t know how this happened, I usually take great care of these things...” The younger man mumbled absentmindedly, a look of confusion and discomfort all over his face. He sighed again when he noticed his pants and shirt had gotten splashed with a disturbing amount of blood during the incident. 

“It’s alright, Deaks, just stay and hold this on your arm. I’ll go get the med kit.” Brian said hurriedly as he jogged over to the janitor closet, quickly locating the white box with the large red plus. He returned to the younger man and kneeled in front of him, unclicking the box’s locks, pulling out the gauze and antiseptic. The older man unwrapped the completely bled through towel, cringing at John’s harsh gasp, and got to spraying the antiseptic onto the drying cut. After he let the liquid settle, he put a couple of cotton swabs on it before tightly binding it with the gauze.

A couple seconds passed where Brian was just making sure the bandaging stayed in place when John spoke up again.

“Thank you, Bri.” 

Fairly impressed with himself, Brian smiled at him and nodded his head, “No problem.”

John moved to stand up, “I think I should go home. Obviously not going to get much else done tonight.” 

“Not like that you’re not. You look like a murder scene.”

It was a bit of an over exaggeration the taller man would admit but still, being covered in that amount of blood would disconcert anyone.

“What do you suggest I do, then?”

Without formulating the proper words in time, Brian blurted, “Take your clothes off.” 

John gave him a blank expression with a slightly quirked brow. It was an uncomfortable moment before he went to continue his train of thought. 

“I mean—I have an extra t-shirt and jeans with me. Might be a bit big but at least you won't look like you just killed someone.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

Brian walked over to his bag he’d brought with him earlier that day, getting out the clothing before turning around and walking back—

—in time to see John shirtless. 

Now, it’s not like Brian’s never seen Deaky without a shirt on, or even without a pair of pants on, but he took detailed notice at how much the man had shaped up the last, almost, decade. His chest and arms were far more defined than when he was a stick-thin nineteen year old; obviously from having been getting a workout from playing. 

It was a little too obvious that Brian was staring when John went to shield himself a bit, a nervous “ahem” coming from him. 

“Oh, uh, sorry. Here.” The taller man said sheepishly, handing over the garments. As Deaky laid out the clothing on the chair, he kept his back to Brian as he took his jeans off, the other clearly having not taken the cue to give him privacy as he continued to stare. 

A thought that had never popped up in Brian’s head suddenly shadowed all other thoughts. 

_‘He’s got a nice arse.’_

It was as if he'd slapped himself in the face with whiplash as the dark brunet instantly averted his gaze to look at literally anything else. He found a crack on the wall to fixate on, hating the feeling of his blood heating up. 

Some rustling and strong observation of failing infrastructure later, John said, “Uh, you can look now.” He chuckled a little to alleviate the weird tension that had somehow filled the room but failed when Brian turned back to him and found the younger man flushed slightly. 

_‘He’s blushing.’ _

Brian’s hand twitched, mentally berating himself. 

_‘Yeah, no duh. You were watching him like a creep, of course he’s embarrassed.’_

As expected, the clothing sagged a little on John’s slim frame. It almost made Brian want to say he looked cute but he forcibly caught himself. He tried not to focus on the grey eyes looking back at him, pupils slightly blown. 

“Uhm, you can return those whenever.” Brian weakly gestured at John’s apparel, cursing himself for a second for the awkward ice-breaker. “Can you drive with only one hand?”

“Yeah, I should be fine. I don’t live too far.”

“‘course.”

For once, Brian hated silence because the distracting thoughts were all he heard as the two were now looking directly at each other. His skin heated up further as he saw John’s pale skin turn a darker shade of pink. His gut churned at the defined, reddening collarbones he could see peeking out from the large shirt collar. 

_‘God.’_

“Brian?” John’s voice was wavering—unsure, eyes darting all over the other’s face. 

Said man felt his eyes glaze over and instantly wanted to shake himself out of this poignant haze of arousal he found himself getting sucked into by the second. No pun intended. 

When John moved his arm too fast to adjust the loose shirt, the sharp intake of breath he let out caused Brian to regroup and pull himself out of his increasingly complex thoughts.

“Better get home before Veronica puts the kids to bed.” John hastily said.

A different, emptier kind of churning hit Brian’s stomach this time, _‘Right. Because he’s married, with children. Because he’s a man, and not to mention, your friend, you idiot.’_ He forced a cough and answered with, “Yeah, of course. I should get home to Chrissie soon too.” His voice sounded audibly feebler. 

As he turned to go back over to his bag, he felt a hand strongly grip his as he was twisted back to face the shorter man. 

In a second flat, he felt a pair of soft lips on his cheek that pulled away too fast. It wasn't anything too tender; a 'thanks' peck at most, but it was still completely out of character for the typically reserved man. His whole body stilled as he tried to process what had happened, barely noticing Deaky move to pack his bass back in its case and pick up his rucksack with the bloodied clothes inside. 

When his brain finally caught up with him, he was cut off by John. 

“I’m… Uhm, thank you. Again. For bandaging me up.” He walked past the other, letting out a “See you tomorrow”, before exiting the room.

Once again, to Brian’s utmost distress, he was left with silence. Only difference, he couldn’t seem to form anymore thoughts; he was completely speechless.


End file.
